"Do you think there is hope, doctor?" was the question she longed to
ask, but could not frame it into words. It came at length from her
husband's lips. The answer was only a straw to grasp at.

"He is in a very critical state, indeed. If I had been at home when he
was first taken ill I think the fever would not have reached such a
height. But everything almost depends on the first steps. We must do
what we can now to make up for lost hours."

But all that the best medical skill could do proved useless. The
little sufferer lingered through the long night watch, and when the
morning dawned seemed once more to know them all. "My mamma," were the
first words which fell from his lips, sending a thrill of joy to all
their hearts. It was bliss to see the smile of recognition light once
more those sweet blue eyes, and the parents grasped each other's hand
in silent joy. The old physician alone looked grave and sorrowful. The
little light was fast fading out, and this was its dying flicker.

"Mamma, please take Bertie," said the little one, holding up the
dimpled hands. Very tenderly was he lifted up and laid in her arms.

"Good night, papa, it's most dark now; Bertie is going to sleep."

His mother's tearful face bent over him, and as the strange hand of
Death was laid upon his heart-strings he clasped her closely about the
neck, as if she were a refuge from every danger.

They took the little one gently from her arms and laid him on his
couch again. Her husband could not even strive to comfort her. He saw
the joy and pride of his existence, the heir of his name and fortune,